


Protect me from what I want

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Drunken Kissing, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, implied mild self-harming tendencies, many issues in fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: Keane. His name was an understatement since he was the definition of whatobsessiveis.
Relationships: Roy Keane/Gary Neville
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Protect me from what I want

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is taken from a poem "Hail to the Tempest" (as heard in the podcast "Roy Keane versus... - Introduction") by Musa Okwonga.  
> This story can be read as a sequel to "He can hold a smile as long as you require (Even longer)".

Gary knew his professionalism shouldn't have any _buts_ and _excuses_ , but when Roy kept on pouring him one glass after another, he just couldn't say no. Some memories of the old times, the _good_ old times, back in the nineties, when his professionalism was nowhere near today's state, stayed vivid in his mind. There was nothing better than letting off some steam after a week full of trainings and game preparations, going out for a few pints with the other lads from the team, and not returning home before 3 AM. Some memories were not as funny or pleasant, but still equally vivid. Like that time Gary was dragged back home by poor Phil, or when he threw up in the lobby of the hotel the team was staying in after chugging down too much vodka. However unfortunate those events were, there was still something sentimental in remembering them, and that was exactly what Gary was doing now, sitting at the table with his former teammate and captain in the Keanes' house, washing down the pints they'd drunk out in the pub with some glasses of whiskey, drinking the night away. Gary was kind of surprised to see what an arsenal of alcoholic beverages Roy had in his home, but then again, he was already retired. And Gary didn't mean to be impolite and refuse a few drinks with Keano. He never lost the respect and admiration for his former captain, and even today, he was more than willing to do whatever Keano would tell him to.

"When will _you_ hang up your boots?" Roy teased him after they spent some time chatting about Roy's own retirement and the possible opportunities of this new era. "Or you'll wait for the mighty Ferguson to kick you out?" He poured some more whiskey in the two empty glasses. "

Neville frowned. He wasn't in the mood for arguing about the boss, especially not with Roy. It's been more than a year since the unfortunate events that lead to Roy leaving the club, and they rarely spoke about it all, though (or maybe because of that?) Gary knew it still had to be a painful wound that might never heal. "No, no, I'll know when my time is up."

"Unlike me then."

"Unlike you." He giggled, feeling the warmth of the alcohol running through his veins. Yeah, this definitely felt like the old times. "I'm younger and wiser, you know."

Keane shot him a look that could kill. "Should I laugh now?"

Gary shook his head, knowing that this was just a friendly jab. He couldn't take anything seriously now. "I'm still gonna do what I do best - "

"Fail at tackling?"

"Yeah. And shoot it wide from time to time. Just to spice it up a bit."

Roy smiled. He could appreciate a good self-deprecating joke, Gary knew it and always acted upon that, trying to match the bitter and dark humor of the Irishman, although his own remarks were nothing against Roy's. After all, it was Keano who darkly joked about jumping off the Suicide Cliff in Saipan, and back then, Gary genuinely wasn't sure whether he should laugh or be worried.

"Sounds like the same old shit."

"I stopped envolving I guess." Gary shrugged his shoulders. "I'm still the same as I've always been."

Roy sneered "Still kicking the ball and kissing everyone on the team?" Gary laughed, nibbling the edge of his glass between his lips. _Yeah, he pretty much was still kicking the ball and kissing everyone when they scored._ Although the old guard was slowly fading away. Sometimes he indeed felt like an old man while looking at the squad full of young promising talents, but that was what football has always been about. He was decided to go on as long as his body lets him. 

"Yeah, that's all I can do now," he mumbled, taking a sip of his drink.

"You're getting old for this game, Gary."

"Still not old for the kissing."

"You never kissed _me_ though."

There was silence. For a second or two (that was when Gary's whole world froze and his heart skipped a few beats) - and then, Gary exhaled, not sure if he's heard it right, and he just raised his eyes from his glass.

He really wished he could understand. His mind was a mess by now, the whole world around seemed to be in a haze - _to kiss Roy_? Wouldn't putting your head in a lion's mouth be less dangerous? 

_Did he really say that?_

It doesn't matter, because by now, Gary's hand is already covering Roy's and -

- _it was probably just banter_ \- 

\- but for Gary, it was a challenge. An invitation, maybe, to test him. _How brave are you actually, Neville?_

Millions of thoughts ran through his mind at that moment; it couldn't be more than two or three seconds, because Roy hasn't blinked once.

 _To dare is to do_. That was another club's motto, but it just appeared so vividly in Gary's mind that he couldn't simply push that thought away -

\- he moved fast, planting a kiss on his teammate's lips in a similar way to the one he would always use while celebrating a goal. A clean, short, almost casual kiss.

It tasted of beer, and somehow, when he pulled away, he was still alive. He still lowered his head automatically, counting the seconds to the moment when Roy inevitably punches his lights out. 

There was a wet spot on the table, smudged all around his whiskey glass. Fuck, he didn't even like whiskey. He drank it once, maybe twice, he was always more of a beer, wine, and gin with tonic kind of guy - 

He couldn't hold his breath anymore and he exhaled, eyes fixed on the wet patch.

He was still alive. _How was he still alive_? He licked his lips, tasting the whiskey and beer from there, missing the fleeting warmth there - 

_What was Roy doing?_

Gary slowly raised his head, trying to ignore the blur and haze his consciousness was facing by now, and focusing just on the man next to him. "Roy?" His own voice sounded strange and distorted. Maybe he was dreaming. This definitely couldn't be real.

Keane touched his lips, avoiding an eye-contact, seemingly lost in thoughts; he moved slowly, probably too affected by the alcohol, but his face betrayed some surprise and consideration. He just raised his eyebrows and shook his head - _I still don't understand_ \- but there was not a hint of any upcoming violence. He looked way too lost in his own thoughts, or maybe just distracted by something that Gary wouldn't get.

"Alright," he mumbled, reaching for his glass again.

And Gary lost it there.

It wasn't a neutral 'alright', there was nothing of real acceptance. It was a smirk, a disappointed shrug, _alright if you think so_ , _alright if it's the best you can do_. _Alright if that's your standards_. Gary knew this kind of an 'alright' shrug too well. Roy did this every time anyone from the squad tried to persuade him they can't give any more for the club. Roy's "alright" might have seemed like a decent way of saying _okay, pal, do not worry about that_ , but in fact, it was a subtle way of laughing in your face, and it hurt more than all the bollocking and shouting in the world would. Nobody wanted to hear this kind of 'alright'. 

Neither did Gary now.

He didn't mean to be just _alright_.

He grabbed Roy by the back of his neck and pulled him closer.

He just wanted to be more than alright, especially when judged by Roy. He always craved validation from other people, starting with parents and Phil, then all his friends and teammates and finally, Roy, as if he was some kind of a truth-teller whose opinion could change lives.

Well, it kind of did.

He was holding onto the kiss because it seemed like the last thing he might do in his life. He felt like his life could end as soon as he's done; and he desperately wanted to continue, with the kissing, with his living, with everything. He didn't want to give up. Roy basically told him to try his best, well, there he was, doing just so. 

The fistful of raven black hair in his hand was firmly held, with no apologies, he knew it would be pathetic to apologize for something like that, at least from Roy's point of view. God, he's spent way too much time of his life thinking about what Roy might think of his actions.

And he still wasn't done.

Roy didn't push him away. 

Gary would gasp in surprise but that seemed too risky now, he didn't want to lose his mind completely, and sure as hell he didn't mean to lose his ground. He was determined to go on and on and on and on as long as he could, as long as he was conscious - 

He pulled away and took a deep breath only when he was almost choking. He still felt like a dead man walking - he was crouched down and desperate, knowing that there must be a hit or a punch incoming, Roy won't let him get away just like that, although he might easily blame this all on the alcohol they'd drank - 

"Gary - "

God, he was holding his hand. Roy was holding his hand - and Gary wasn't even breathing.

"Gary, _don't_ \- don't do that." 

"You said I never kissed you." _Jesus, he really was balancing on the thin ice, wasn't he_?

"Gaz - "

" _You liked it_."

There was silence. Gary felt his life and career slipping through his fingers; maybe he ruined it all for good tonight. Or maybe he gained something more. He still couldn't tell. When he reached out to touch Roy's cheek, scared and slow in his movements as in approaching a wild animal, he actually managed to breathe out.

"I can't, Gary."

Why does it even matter? Gary's heart clenches and hurts at those words, although he would never admit it. Why should it hurt? He's drunk. He's been kissing his teammate. It shouldn't hurt like this. It shouldn't feel like a stab in his heart, like a painful cut digging into his insides. 

He should be fucking laughing his head off. _Like Jesus fucking Christ, Roy, I didn't mean it, it's just a joke, come on, let's have another one_. Come on. Yeah, come on. Maybe if he was trying hard enough, he would convince Roy - and himself - that he was indeed just joking.

_Joking - with his lips glued to Roy's._

_Joking - breathing in his captain's scent; the aftershave and sweat and alcohol, all combined in a mix that made his head spin tonight._

Of course, he was just joking.

And when he touched Roy's cheek, it was the daring nature of it more than the touch itself what sent shivers down his spine. He didn't crave the touch - if he wanted a simple touch, he could have gone to see his missus, after all, or he could have easily ended up in some dance bar in the downtown. He didn't need just a touch and he didn't need just a kiss. He was desperate for Roy in a strange way that he never allowed his brain to fully process and now it was too late. Keano was a magnet, a beacon, a flame, and Gary knew he himself had to be the foolish moth, attracted in a way that couldn't end well. 

" _Gaz_."

Roy called him ' _Gaz_ ' only sporadically. Tonight, it seemed like an attempt to equal his own short name, consisting of only three letters. _Roy and Gaz_. Or _Roy and Nev_. Like some comic duo. _Oh God_. Gary supported his head by his hand, trying to sort his mind out. The silence was unbearable because he could almost heart his own thought - those about him ruining his own career, destroying everything nice he's had, sending his whole self-reflection down the drain. Why would he do something like that? Why would he kiss Roy? He didn't mean it, he never wanted to do it, he never felt the need to act like this - 

"I'm sorry."

Gary couldn't believe his ears. What was Roy sorry for? For just sitting there? He wanted to spit that question out, possibly with some poisonous accent, but seeing Roy sitting in his chair with his head lowered as if he's been humiliated, that stopped him. He knew Roy reacted differently to a lot of things. Like when he was injured or sick - he would never admit it. He'd rather play in an unimaginable pain than say he wasn't feeling well. Gary used to admire it until the captain, in a moment of rare weakness, said this all was probably due to the years spent under Brian Clough's influence. Clough hated injured players. Roy wanted to be good for him. Not even _good_ ; he wanted to be _enough_. He never thought of himself as _good,_ and he most likely rarely considered himself to be _enough._

Tonight, Gary felt like he's finally gotten a glimpse of what the real _Roy Keane experience_ is like. No freaking hard-man stuff. No fights. No anger. Just some bitterness, frustration and disappointment, but all turned inwards, aimed at him only, not at Gary and not on anyone else. Roy Keane hated himself for anything slightly inconvenient that has happened in the radius of ten miles around him. Tonight, Gary understood it. And it all suddenly started to make sense. When some players weren't giving good performances in matches, Gary often notices Roy fuming, and more often fuming at himself rather than the sloppy teammates. He hated himself for not being good enough to motivate others. 

"Sorry for what?" Gary muttered. There was no way to get out of this awkward situation; there could have been had they both burst out laughing after the first kiss. _Fucking hell, Gaz. What are you doing this for_? They could have definitely laughed the first kiss off, wipe their lips with some mock disgust and go on about their night. Now there was no such possibility.

Roy wasn't even looking at him; the drops of whiskey in his glass seemed more captivating. Neville tried to hypnotize him, stare at him long enough to make him uncomfortable and look up. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize Roy actually _was_ doing _something_ else than just watching the whiskey drops slowly slide down the glass (that was empty once again) - he was scratching his forearm with slow yet obviously painful scratches, digging his nails into the pale skin there, leaving a red and white line behind. 

"Hey." It almost seemed like Roy was in some catatonic state of madness. _Was that it_? Gary wondered. His head felt too heavy to form any further thoughts. _Was this the boiling point?_ The uncertainty was driving him insane. "Roy. _Fucking talk to me._ _What the fuck are you fucking sorry for_?"

When Roy grabbed his glass, Gary instinctively ducked down, expecting the glass to be flying across the table soon; he covered his face to protect it and felt blood rushing through his veins, thumping in his head. It was never a wise decision to talk like that to Keano, and he knew he might regret it very soon. Instead of a hit, or the sound of glass breaking, he only heard the squeaking of a chair and then some decisive footsteps stomping out of the room. He didn't dare to raise his head again until he heard a distant sound of something hitting the floor - or maybe the wall? It was a regular, pounding sound, coming from some other room in the house.

He got up as fast as he could, staggering a little as all the blood rushed from his head to his numb limbs. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He stumbled towards the wall, supporting himself against it, and then continued his unsteady slow walk towards the door. 

"Roy?" he called, but the word came out dry and quiet. He made his way forwards, occasionally touching the walls and pieces of furniture for support. "Roy?"

Roy was in the bathroom, the turned-on light and open door betrayed him. Gary stopped in the door, watching him doing something over the sink. After a closer look, he noticed that Roy was pressing a wet towel on the back of his hand, or more precisely, on his bruised bloody knuckles. He felt like heaving for a moment but managed to brace himself. 

_Jesus, Roy must have been punching walls to get his hands in this state._

Gary made an eye-contact with him through the wall-mounted mirror. "We should go to sleep, Gary," Roy said, patting his knuckles with the damp cloth. "Or we'll fuck this all up big time."

"Haven't we done it already?" Gary felt sick from looking at the blood being washed down the sink but strangely enough, he couldn't take his eyes off it. 

"Don't throw up on the carpet, Gaz." Even Roy mentioning that made his sickness worse, but he still made it through. "Theresa won't be cleaning that."

_Yeah, Theresa._

Now it seemed surreal to think of Roy's wife. It was always kind of strange to hear him mention her name, or even the names of his kids - he just never spoke of them. There was Keano, the midfield general, and then there was Roy, the man behind the mask. And somewhere behind that all, there was just Roy Maurice Keane, a husband and a father of five, living his normal everyday life, taking out the trash and walking his dog and driving his kids to school. And those three characters had very little in common, except for still being just one man.

"I'm alright," Gary said, glad to feel that his stomach settled at last. "You hurt yourself," he stated flatly.

"Yeah." Roy's voice almost sounded satisfied.

Gary watched over his shoulder as the last drops of blood swirled with the water down the drain and disappeared forever. "Why'd you do that?"

There always seemed to be only two options for Roy - _fight_ or _flight_. And tonight, he was torn between those two. He couldn't really flight since this was his house, and he invited Gary in, and he couldn't fight because after all, they were still old friends, and there was so much more that neither of them dared to talk about. The only fight possibly was the fight with himself alone. 

Roy turned off the water. "Are you stupid or what?" 

Yeah, that sounded just like Keane. _Finally_. Gary couldn't help but smile faintly. "Probably."

"Gary, _please_."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck off." He turned around to face Neville, still holding the towel with a few bloody spots in his hands. 

"Don't fight _me_ , Roy."

"I'm not fighting you."

"Why did you do this?"

"Why the fuck do you care?"

"What else do you do?"

"What the fuck is this, an interrogation?"

"I care about you!"

"You can stick your care - - - "

Roy wasn't even taller than him, he just always acted like he was and made everyone believe that; Gary was almost surprised to see that their eyes were at the same level, and the more heated their argument got, the closer they seemed to be. Roy didn't even need to finish his sentence, the ending was way too familiar - _anyone_ could _stick anything_ up _anywhere_ when Roy got angry, that was the rule that everyone had to learn sooner or later.

"Is it because I kissed you?"

Roy rolled his eyes, biting his lips. "No. No, Gary - _no_ \- "

"Why then?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I wanna kiss you again."

"I'd have to kill myself."

"I won't do it."

"I want you to."

Gary stared at him, looking for something to explain, to help him understand the thought process, the strange patterns that Keane was thinking in. There was no way of explaining this without thinking of the worst.

"See?" A brief, pathetic smile flickered on Roy's lips. "You wouldn't understand."

"What do you want from me?" Gary asked, meek and defeated. 

"I want you to go to sleep." Roy's dark green eyes were staring right through Gary's weak psychological defense and burning his will to ashes. "And I want you to forget that anything of this has ever happened. Alright?"

" _Roy_ \- " His attempt of protesting was just lame. Roy silenced him with a simple gesture of his hand, as he laid his finger on Gary's shaking lips.

" _It better hurt._ "

**Author's Note:**

> \- in his autobiography, Gary Neville wrote about that time he drank half a pint of vodka: "I think it was the following year when I surpassed myself by spewing all over the hotel reception. I was necking vodka straight out of the bottle, half a pint of the stuff, and I couldn’t stand up. About all I can remember is Keano pissing his sides and taunting me as I threw up everywhere. ‘Neville, you’re a shambles. I’m ringing Hoddle in the morning to tell him you’re a fucking disgrace."  
> \- about his breathtaking performance against Juventus in 1999, Keane wrote: "I was proud of our team that night. I was for once proud of myself, content that I had _justified my existence_ and honored my debts to the manager who'd placed so much trust in me."  
> \- Gary on Roy: "Say something unfounded and Roy would be the first on to you to say, ‘That’s bollocks.’ He didn’t like lazy thinking any more than lazy footballers."  
> \- Gary on Roy 2: "Roy’s got a great, dark sense of humour. You never knew what was going to come out of his mouth. He kept you on your toes. He used to make me laugh all the time. One day I was texting around a new mobile phone number. Roy replied straight away, ‘So what.’ Typical."  
> \- During his short stay in Saipan duirng the World Cup 2002, Roy Keane gave an interview in which he said: "We had a lovely day yesterday, we went up to Suicide Cliff and learned the history. I enjoyed that, that's the nice side of it, but I keep saying to everybody we're here to prepare for the World Cup. I was going to go back up there today to that cliff! Add an Irishman to the list (laughs)."  
> \- in his second book, Roy Keane also wrote: "That’s the self-destruct button. I don’t know if it’s low self-esteem. Things might be going really well, and I don’t trust it: ‘It’s not going to last’, or, ‘Why am I getting this? Why are things going well? I’ll fuck things up a little bit, then feel a bit better, myself.’ I might be buying a car: ‘Who do you think you are, buying a new car?’ And I’ll fuck it up. I’ll drag things down around me, and then I’ll get started again."  
> \- Roy famously said to the Ireland team's manager Mick McCarthy "Stick the world cup up your bollocks/arse"


End file.
